Moments of Indecision
by TheLostShephard
Summary: My take on this scene from There's No Place Like Home. Jack finds out that he has family on the Island, but he can't say anything. It's driving him mad.


Jack Shephard stood at the door in the foyer of the great church. His eyes were dry as, one by one, the people lined up to pay their respects, say their words of comfort, and then take their leave. It was almost over now, the last of the guests were saying good bye.

His mother had already gone back to the house, and as Jack shook the last hand and watched the person leave, he breathed a deep sigh of relief. It was over at last. Christian Shephard was dead and gone. He had been properly mourned and remembered, and now Jack was finally ready to let him go, finally ready to close this troubling chapter of his life.  
But, as he would later find out, this chapter had a mind and will of its own… it would not be an easy thing to let it go.

Kate stepped into the foyer carrying Aaron in her arms. He had been surprisingly quite for the entire funeral service, but now that it was over, the long afternoon was taking it's toll. He was fussy, and she had to bounce him and talk to him to keep him quite… he was just beginning to fall asleep.  
"You okay?" she asked Jack as she watched him put his things together "It's been a long day."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Jack assured her "You didn't have to stay this long."  
He was glad that she _had _stayed though—he needed her.

"I know," said Kate, smiling a little, "But I wanted to."

"Excuse me," a woman's timid and trembling voice interrupted them, "Doctor Shephard, may I—may I have a word?"

Both of them turned to see who had joined them, and Kate suddenly stepped back as though she had seen a ghost.

Jack stood and stared, firmly rooted in his place. The features of the woman before him were remarkable familiar. The cascading waves of ridiculously blonde hair, those piercing crystal-clear blue eyes, that gently accented voice, even the way she walked—Jack could not shake the feeling that he knew this woman, or had known her at one time… but at the same time, he didn't know who she was. A voice in his head told him that he did not _want_ to know.

"What can I—what can I do for you?" Jack asked, noting that the woman's eyes were red. She had obviously been crying on and off for some time… he couldn't believe that it was over his father. Even _he_ hadn't shed as many tears as this woman had… and that bothered him.

"I'm sorry, terribly sorry for your loss, Doctor Shephard." The woman stepped forward and placed her hand on his sleeve as she spoke "I'm sorry. I have reason to believe that I am the reason why your father was in Australia when he—when he…" her voice broke and she could not continue. She spoke as though she was giving a confession, and maybe… maybe she was.

Jack shook his head, his features displaying his confusion.  
He had often wondered why his father had been in Australia at all, what had made him choose to go there. Jack had always assumed that he had driven his father away, and that he had gone to a place as far away as he could get that still had a decent bar. Never would he have guessed that he had contacts, maybe even some friends, so far away.

"I'm sorry, how—how did you know my father? Why was he coming to see _you_?"

"He wasn't coming to see me—I was still in the hospital at the time." The woman endeavored to explain the situation, "he was coming to see his—his daughter… _my_ daughter."

Jack shook his head again, he didn't want to believe it. But she had said it so firmly, with such conviction; he could not doubt her honesty. "My father didn't have a—"

"Yes he did," she insisted, her eyes pleading, begging him to understand, "if you don't believe me, check his phone records."

Jack said nothing, so she continued "Do you want to know the most ironic thing about this, Doctor? My daughter was on your plane. She was one of the ones who died in the water." Her eyes filled again and she struggled for a moment to keep what was left of her composure. "Six hours on that plane. You were probably sitting a few rows from where she was; maybe you saw her, maybe even spoke to her, never knowing that she was your _sister_!"

Jack opened his mouth to speak, but words would not come. He could only guess now who she was talking about, and he hoped he was wrong.

The woman saw the question in Jack's eyes and knew he could not ask it aloud.

"Her name—her name was _Claire_."

The statement hit Jack like a thunderbolt, the color drained from his face, and tears sprang to his eyes. Still, he could say nothing.

"I'm sorry for your loss." The woman pressed again "I didn't mean to burden you with this, but I thought you should know." She then quickly turned and walked toward the door; glancing at Kate and Aaron before she left, she said: "Your baby is beautiful." And then she was gone.

"Th-thank you." Kate had barely managed as the woman disappeared. She had listened, with a horrified expression, to the woman's confessions, apologies, and final statements. She had heard every word and knew, without a doubt, that all of it was true. That figure had haunted her ever since they left the Island, striking fear and guilt deep into her heart. Aaron was Claire's son, and Kate had often felt guilty for being the one who was raising him now… after all, it was possible that Claire was not dead.

She had consoled herself with the thought that there had been nothing they could do—and there hadn't been. She had done the right thing, taking Aaron as her own.

Even so, as she watched the older woman leave, she could not help but feel that this woman, Aaron's grandmother, had every right to know, and_ deserved _to know that Aaron was in fact her grandson.

Kate looked at Jack and knew that he was thinking the same thing, his expression mirroring her own.

As though guilt didn't weigh heavy enough on the doctor's conscience, another weight, a greater weight had just been added. Jack, being the man that he was, took it rather hard. He watched as the woman disappeared, struggling with this new revelation. His thoughts were on the past, present, and future all at once. His heart was torn between right and wrong… but what was right? And what was wrong?

The woman, he hadn't even asked her name, had come to apologize, as though she had something to do with his father's death. She was sorry for his loss, and he had said nothing to comfort her own. Hers, perhaps, being the greater of the two. He had said nothing. She had wanted him to know the truth; she had given it to him, never suspecting anything. He had listened, holding on to a lie with his silence. There was no justifying it.

"Damn it!" he swore under his breath, cursing his own conscience more than anything.

"Jack!" Kate inhaled sharply and looked around "Not here!"

Jack followed her example, looking around the building, as though he expected someone to come out from the shadows and strike him down. He laughed bitterly when nothing happened, "No one's here, Kate. There's no one to hear, no one to care."

"Jack, we should go now" Kate said, realizing that it would be best if they went home "Come on."

"You go on ahead," Jack said slowly "I'll be by later."

"I'm not leaving without you." Kate insisted.

Jack knew she would stay with him until he left… or until she dragged him out. Either way, he had no argument. He said nothing for several minutes and then, meeting her gaze, he said: "We have told her."

"We couldn't, Jack." said Kate, her eyes filling, "We can't."

"She deserves to know, Kate… to know the truth." Jack said quietly. "She deserves it more than anyone."

It was Kate's turn to stand in silence—she knew he was right. But she was right, too. A lot of people deserved to know the truth… but the time wasn't right. "Not yet." She finally whispered.

Jack shook his head and adjusted his tie. No, not yet. Not today, not tomorrow… and, if they waited long enough, maybe not ever.

He squared his shoulders and gently took Kate's arm, "Come on, let's go home."

This chapter in the life of Doctor Jack Shephard has a mind of its own. It seems to think that it still has a few pages left to be written, and it refuses to be passed over and let alone before they have been completed. It is almost as though, in some weird way, Christian Shephard is not quite ready to let himself go, even though he is dead.

He _is_ dead…but, then again, he is also here.

And that in and of itself begs the question "_Where_ is here?"

Who knows?


End file.
